Hills Like White Elephants

By Ernest Hemingway

"The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to Madrid.

'What should we drink?' the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.

'It’s pretty hot,' the man said.

'Let’s drink beer.'

'Dos cervezas,' the man said into the curtain.

'Big ones?' a woman asked from the doorway.

'Yes. Two big ones.'

The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer glass on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.

'They look like white elephants,' she said.

"I’ve never seen one," the man drank his beer.

'No, you wouldn’t have.'

'I might have,' the man said. ‘Just because you say I wouldn’t have doesn’t prove anything.’

The girl looked at the bead curtain. ‘They’ve painted something on it,’ she said. ‘What does it say?’

‘Anis del Toro. It’s a drink.’

‘Could we try it?’

The man called ‘Listen’ through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar.

‘Four reales.’ ‘We want two Anis del Toro.’

‘With water?’

‘Do you want it with water?’

‘I don’t know,’ the girl said. ‘Is it good with water?’

‘It’s all right.’

‘You want them with water?’ asked the woman.

‘Yes, with water.’

‘It tastes like liquorice,’ the girl said and put the glass down.

‘That’s the way with everything.’

‘Yes,’ said the girl. ‘Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you’ve waited so long for, like absinthe.’

‘Oh, cut it out.’

‘You started it,’ the girl said. ‘I was being amused. I was having a fine time.’

‘Well, let’s try and have a fine time.’

‘All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn’t that bright?’

‘That was bright.’

‘I wanted to try this new drink. That’s all we do, isn’t it – look at things and try new drinks?’

‘I guess so.’

The girl looked across at the hills.

‘They’re lovely hills,’ she said. ‘They don’t really look like white elephants. I just meant the colouring of their skin through the trees.’

‘Should we have another drink?’

‘All right.’

The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.

‘The beer’s nice and cool,’ the man said.

‘It’s lovely,’ the girl said.

‘It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jig,’ the man said. ‘It’s not really an operation at all.’

The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.

‘I know you wouldn’t mind it, Jig. It’s really not anything. It’s just to let the air in.’

The girl did not say anything.

‘I’ll go with you and I’ll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it’s all perfectly natural.’

‘Then what will we do afterwards?’

‘We’ll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing that’s made us unhappy.’

The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads.

‘And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy.’

‘I know we will. Yon don’t have to be afraid. I’ve known lots of people that have done it.’

‘So have I,’ said the girl. ‘And afterwards they were all so happy.’

‘Well,’ the man said, ‘if you don’t want to you don’t have to. I wouldn’t have you do it if you didn’t want to. But I know it’s perfectly simple.’

‘And you really want to?’

‘I think it’s the best thing to do. But I don’t want you to do it if you don’t really want to.’

‘And if I do it you’ll be happy and things will be like they were and you’ll love me?’

‘I love you now. You know I love you.’

‘I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants, and you’ll like it?’

‘I’ll love it. I love it now but I just can’t think about it. You know how I get when I worry.’

‘If I do it you won’t ever worry?’

‘I won’t worry about that because it’s perfectly simple.’

‘Then I’ll do it. Because I don’t care about me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t care about me.’

‘Well, I care about you.’

‘Oh, yes. But I don’t care about me. And I’ll do it and then everything will be fine.’

‘I don’t want you to do it if you feel that way.’

The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station. Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees.

‘And we could have all this,’ she said. ‘And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said we could have everything.’

‘We can have everything.’

‘No, we can’t.’

‘We can have the whole world.’

‘No, we can’t.’

‘We can go everywhere.’

‘No, we can’t. It isn’t ours any more.’

‘It’s ours.’

‘No, it isn’t. And once they take it away, you never get it back.’

‘But they haven’t taken it away.’

‘We’ll wait and see.’

‘Come on back in the shade,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t feel that way.’

‘I don’t feel any way,’ the girl said. ‘I just know things.’

‘I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to do -’

‘Nor that isn’t good for me,’ she said. ‘I know. Could we have another beer?’

‘All right. But you’ve got to realize – ‘

‘I realize,’ the girl said. ‘Can’t we maybe stop talking?’

They sat down at the table and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley and the man looked at her and at the table.

‘You’ve got to realize,’ he said, ‘ that I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you.’

‘Doesn’t it mean anything to you? We could get along.’

‘Of course it does. But I don’t want anybody but you. I don’t want anyone else. And I know it’s perfectly simple.’

‘Yes, you know it’s perfectly simple.’

‘It’s all right for you to say that, but I do know it.’

‘Would you do something for me now?’

‘I’d do anything for you.’

‘Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?’

He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels where they had spent nights.

‘But I don’t want you to,’ he said, ‘I don’t care anything about it.’

‘I’ll scream,’ the girl siad.

The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. ‘The train comes in five minutes,’ she said.

‘What did she say?’ asked the girl.

‘That the train is coming in five minutes.’

The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.

‘I’d better take the bags over to the other side of the station,’ the man said. She smiled at him.

‘All right. Then come back and we’ll finish the beer.’

He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not see the train. Coming back, he walked through the bar-room, where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.

‘Do you feel better?’ he asked.

‘I feel fine,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.’"

We Must Do Extraordinary Things.

Also by Dave Eggers:

"And every day you'd start from scratch, and everyone'd get together and say, Hey, let's put some buildings there, and, um, over there, let's have a five-hundred-foot stuffed hippo, and there, in front of that mountain, a huge fucking, uh, something else."

"Sure, sure. But you'd have to be able to accelerate everything, have everything be a bit easier than it currently is, in terms of construction and everything: you'd need, like, huge robots or something."

"Sure, robots, of course."

"I'm dead serious about all this."

"I am too. I'm with you."

"We can do this."

"Sure."

"We have to get people interested."

"Everyone we know."

"Even the flakes."

"John."

"Right. Good luck."

"I know. You know what he was talking about tonight?"

"You saw him?"

"Yeah."

"I owe him a call."

"He was talking about how he had just taken some test, an aptitude test, to tell him what kind of job he should have, so he could be told what to do with his life--"

"Jesus."

"It's brutal."

"We need to change him."

"Inspire him."

"Him, everyone."

"Get everyone together."

"All these people."

"No more waiting."

"Means through mass."

"It's criminal to pause."

"To wallow."

"To complain."

"We have to be happy."

"To not be happy would be difficult."

"We would have to try to not be happy."

"We have an obligation."

"We've had advantages."

"We have a platform from which to risk."

"A cushion to fall back on."

"This is abundance."

"A luxury of place and time."

"Something rare and wonderful."

"It's almost historically unprecedented."

"We must do extraordinary things."

"We have to."

"It would be obscene not to."

"We will take what we've been given and unite people."

"And we'll try not to sound so irritating."

"Right. From now on."

Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius:

"

That must drive you insa--

Oh please. What would a brain do if not these sorts of exercises? I have no idea how people function without near-constant internal chaos. I'd lose my mind.


"






Adrianne Nicole Alusha, Broken Embraces; 2009

Taking Breath

Lesson #9: Embracing the risks and rewards of the world's unknowns--the ones so easily forgotten by the comfortable soul--requires little more than a backpack, sturdy shoes, and some extra pens and paper for the road.

____

"Taking Breath" was published in the Santa Clara Review, Fall/Winter 2010

____

Brianne and I arrived at the St. Denis metro in the 2nd arrondissement at 9pm Monday night, after I had eaten with my host family and decided against studying. I often, if not always, find good use out of the "you only live in Paris once" excuse when needing to justify lack of academic motivation. This night was no different.

Brianne, a fellow student from Virginia and my newfound travel companion and adventure seeker, met Adam a few nights prior at a bar in London. Adam, an American vagabond in his late 20s, was meeting us for some company. For what specific purpose this group of people was meeting at the St. Denis metro in the 2nd arrondissement at 9pm on Monday was beyond my knowledge.

She waved her hand through the air, and I turned to see a tall, burly man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes approaching us, grinning eagerly. Without hesitation, this man dove towards my face. His lips met my cheeks suddenly, almost knocking me over. He pulled back and grabbed me by the shoulders, arms outstretched, and boasted "Enchanté!" which loosely translates to "Hello, my name is Adam. And you must be Rachel! Pleased to meet you, Rachel." I thought for a moment that I had met this tall burly man before, perhaps in a previous life, and we were becoming reacquainted after many years of separation.

"This is such a great part of town. You've got to look around when you have the time." We followed him. "That right there is the Arc de la Porte Saint-Denis, built by Louis XIV to commemorate his military victories." He spoke with his hands and his knees and his chest.

Adam, I learned, is a Chicago native and has been living in Paris for eighteen months as an English-speaking bike tour guide. I have always wanted to take a bike tour with a bike tour guide, but did not insinuate that he issue me a personal invitation, as I speculated that Adam would not have appreciated such boldness so prematurely in our relationship.

He led us down various streets until we were interrupted by a perpendicular dark alley lined with prostitutes. "Don't take pictures. They can get aggressive." We followed him. This was the street of his apartment, which I then learned was our destination. My imagination stirred boundlessly and I could only think of the movie Taken and how I was about to be, in fact, taken. My apprehension grew as Brianne and I were led up eight flights of a narrow spiral stair case, and on the way passed a section blocked off by caution tape with a sign that translated as “undergoing investigation.” If we were going to be killed, I thought, which at this point seemed likely, I suppose the very top floor of an old apartment building on a prostitute street is the best place to do it. Brianne chattered casually with her new friend who had not stopped speaking with his hands. I was planning my escape.

The door creaked open to reveal a 2-bedroom flat dimly lit by hundreds of small white candles, jazz music lingering in the musty air. Another young gentleman sitting comfortably on a leather couch rose to greet us. He did not lunge at me with his mouth, which I was thankful for. He offered us slices of a rustic baguette with Camembert and poured 4 glasses of red wine. Adam retreated to the kitchen, and Brianne and I sat and talked with the new man whom I believe was very nervous, as he stuttered frequently. Mitch was currently studying in Paris at an institute for technology and architecture and living a few blocks up the street. We sipped wine slowly, letting the record player occupy gaps of silence, and he began to point out and explain the artwork scattered on the walls, which I had not noticed until this point.

A blonde head appeared.

“How do you guys feel about chopsticks?”

“What're we having?” Mitch chimed from his position on the couch. I was only waiting to hear a response along the lines of, "our guests," but the sizzling of a frying pan had drowned out Adam's ability to hear the question.

“Adam is an artist and this, this one is a painting of a woman with her left leg crossed ninety degrees across her right, but most people, when they see this one, think she is riding a camel. This was one of his first paintings. These are views from various places in the city—like that, obviously, is Sacre Coeur. See Montparnasse in the background? And this one I think is in the 14th. And this one here, this is an imitation of Van Gogh’s famous piece, but I forget the name.” Starry night, I thought. That one, I admit, was very good.

I began to smell aromas of Thai cuisine and my mouth watered.

The hundreds of vanilla scented candles, I found, were a gift from Adam’s mother that had resurfaced while cleaning out boxes, and were not intended for any specific purpose tonight other than getting use out of hundreds of unused vanilla scented candles. I quite enjoyed them.

We emptied the three bottles of wine that lay before us, our hosts assuring the ladies’ glasses were never short of half full, and finished two jazz records. Mitch brought out another loaf of bread, accompanied this time by a saucer of salted oil and vinegar. Moments later, a plate hot with steam was slid in front of my view—a well-portioned chicken dish liberally marinated in an orange tangy sauce (a recipe Adam had brought back from Bangkok) neighbored by seasoned potatoes, peppers, grilled onions, and tomatoes. And chopsticks. It must have been near 11pm when we began to feast, laughing and gulping and trading and pointing.

Brianne encouraged Adam to tell stories of his travels—the ones he had shared during their first encounter at the London bar when they spoke for hours over cocktails. The ones that had aroused in her the enduring fascination that gave us reason to be sitting and eating Thai food in the travelling man's apartment on a late Monday night in the 2nd arrondissment in the first place. And so he did share stories of his travels, and how he has known the corners of the world with his own eyes and ears and feet. He told us how he lived in Morocco with a man who worked as a fisherman trader and spent months perfecting the art of Italian cuisine at a cooking school in Rome. He shared stories in the most amusing way, often with his hand rested on his chest to control the frequent bursts of laughter, hunched over his knees, pulling us in closer. He told us about his nights dancing in Spain (he enjoys the company of Spaniards out of any other people), meditating in Bali and countries lining the eastern coast of South America, and how he learned to speak Chinese in Shanghai. He used his tongue to push mangled chicken to the side of this mouth and spoke in between gulps about his loathing for Australians, helping the helpless in Iran, feeling the sand of the Sahara between his toes, stories about couch surfing, dumpster-diving, and Parisian bike tour guiding…

My legs had turned numb when I realized I was sitting on the edge of my seat.

He told us, finally, about his plans to leave Paris—a city he has fallen in love with—and how he recently bought a one-way train ticket to Germany where he plans to rent a 5-bed room apartment in Berlin, to which he plans to invite anybody and everybody to join him and do art. And he left it at that and continued chewing.

Yes, I am safe with you, Adam. And now it is all clear to me.

I will come with you to Germany, Adam, and I will live with you. I will live in Berlin in your apartment and we will transform it into a studio and we will do art and invite others to do art. We’ll set easels up in various rooms and maybe we’ll cover the floors with tarp or maybe we won’t care enough. Some will draw and many will sculpt and music! Oh, we’ll have music. Guitars and saxophones and a piano—I will play the piano. We will spend our days there and let the light from the windows flood the white walls and I will write and you will paint and we will learn from each other. And perhaps people will come to the studio art apartment and want to live there with us and we will let them. And when everyone is done with their art I will tell you of the times when I thought I knew things and you will tell us of your weeks in Greece and Holland and Dubai and we will laugh about the seriousness that poisons human thought. And then we will admire our art and eat day old bread and cheese and maybe you can cook Bangkok orange chicken if you’re not feeling too tired and we’ll always have one extra wine bottle in the cabinet and we will live there until we don’t want to live there anymore.

I had dropped one of my chopsticks. Brianne kicked my foot and I looked up to see empty plates and the American traveling men perched on the balcony clutching glasses, waving at us to join. My chest heaved. I hadn’t been breathing until now.

A short trip back.

2005 - A series of original dialogues inspired by Larry McMurtry's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel Lonesome Dove.

Dish Bogget:

A scruffy man came ridin’ up the hill on the north side of camp, where our welcome sign is. I could barely see from so far away who he was, but as he came closer I could see that they was two of ‘em. I figured they was coming up to Hat Creek Cattle Company to buy some cattle or maybe to rent some horses. No one come around too often ‘cause it’s a long way up the river, but when they do come around lookin’ to buy something or rent something they always leave satisfied, and we always satisfied too. As they came down near to our camp we all gathered by the sign to greet ‘em. The horses they was ridin’ weren’t very pretty, or well-kept for that matter, so we figured they wasn’t the richest fellas in town, but we planned on greetin’ them just the same as we would anyone else.

Call was the first to say something to them ‘cause the rest of us didn’t know what to say; we always leave important stuff like that up to the Captain. One of them came right up to us and the first thing he said was, “Which way’s the whorehouse?” He didn’t seem too bright. The other fella started talkin’ to Call and the rest of ‘em but the other fella was lookin’ right at me when he said it. I had no intention of revealing Lorena’s whereabouts to an ugly little cowboy on a swaybacked horse. So I said, “It’s over in Sabinas.” Of course that weren’t true, but only because they was no way I could let some fella ride in to Lonesome Dove and right away go lookin’ for a poke. I told him to ride on down the river and he’ll surely see it. “I didn’t ask for no smart remarks, you hear?” he said. “I’ve been told there’s a yellow-haired girl right in this town.” Right then I got so mad, I tell ya, I coulda pulled out my pistol and shot that son-of-a-bitch right in the goddamn face. “Well that’s just my sister.” Of course it was a rank lie, but it got the job done and he scurried off to find his partner and looked to buy some horses.

A few hours later the work was finished and everyone was loungin’ around on the porch feeding the shoats and drinkin’ whiskey, like usual. I decided to ride into town ‘cause I was thinkin’ of Lorie. I figured I’d pay her a visit, and maybe squeeze in a game or two of poker. Lorie whores over at the Dry Bean, the only saloon in town. I don’t think of her as a whore, considerin’ she’s the nicest and prettiest gal I ever come across. Lippy plays the piano and Xavier just goes around cleanin’ up tables. Xavier’s fond of Lorie, he’s always talkin’ to me about how he plans to marry her, but I know she’d never settle for nothin’ like that. I sat down at the table she was at and ordered a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. We was talkin’ and everything was fine, and then Jake Spoon came and sat down at the table with us. That bastard rode into town a few days ago, lookin’ for work after bein’ gone a few years. I don’t know why anyone would wanna come back to Lonesome Dove. Anyway, I could hardly take my eyes off this gal, she was so pretty, and when I did I caught Jake lookin’ at me. Then they started talkin’ and she was laughin’ like I never seen her laughin’ before. At that point I felt myself lose belief in what was happenin’. There was no place in the world I would rather not be than at a table with Lorie and another man, yet that appeared to be where I was. Lorie just sat there, laughin’ and flirtin’ and sippin’ her drink. She didn’t mind me bein’ there, but she wouldn’t have minded if I was a thousand miles away either. For a time, I lost sense of what life was about. I even lost sense that I was a cowboy, which is the strongest sense I have. Right then I was just a fella with a glass in his hand, and that was all I’d ever be to Lorie. I took a drink and then another and then several, and by the middle of the second bottle I forgot about Lorie and Jake and found myself sittin’ on the piano singin’ “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” while Lippy played.


Lorena:

Life in Lonesome Dove is a bore. Just the same over and over, I don’t think I could stand it anymore. Everyday some fella walks into the Bean lookin’ for a poke, and I give it to ‘em. They all act as if they desperately need me, like they can’t live without me, it’s all just horseshit. That’s why I fancy Jake Spoon the way I do. Most men when they come in they see me and they get nervous but this one day when me and Dish was sitting together, Jake came around and he ordered his drink and talked to Xavier for a while, and I just sat there lookin’ at him, expectin’ him to come over and ask for a poke or a game of cards. Before he even brought his bottle to the table and sit with me I began to want him to.

Jake always compliments me. “My goodness,” he said the first time he saw me, “I never expected to find nobody like you here. We didn’t see much beauty when I lived in these parts. Now if this was San Francisco, I wouldn’t be surprised.” It caught me off guard to hear him say that but from then on he promised he would see that I got to San Francisco, ‘cause he knew that’s where I belong. After several visits with Jake Spoon and talks about headin’ up to San Francisco and startin’ up a new life together, I began to feel like I wanted to play a part in keepin’ him alive, which is somethin’ I’ve never felt before. I mean, I’m used to men thinkin’ they need me desperately, just because they want to get their carrots in me, but Jake wasn’t askin’ that and that made me wonder.

After I had been goin’ with Jake a while, one day Gus came struttin’ through the Bean and came over to me and asked for a poke. Xavier stood behind the bar and just watched, not knowin’ why he would do somethin’ like that. Gus didn’t feel embarrassed or nothin’, he just sat back with his arm hangin’ over the chair as if nothin’ was wrong, as if he didn’t care I was with Jake now. I told him I wouldn’t do it ‘cause Jake’s my sweetheart. Then he offered me fifty dollars so I let him do his business. I felt so horrible doin’ that to Jake. I made Xavier swear he wouldn’t tell a soul. A few days later Jake and me was sittin’ on the bed together and I was tellin’ him about it and about the fifty dollars. Jake lifted his eyebrows like he does, like they was nothin’ he could possible hear that would really surprise him, like he knew it already or somethin’. “He’s a fool with money,” Jake said to me. “I reckon he got his poke.” He wiped sweat off his forehead and wiped it on the sheets. “Now that you’re rich you can loan me twenty,” he said. That was when I knew Jake didn’t really love me, and perhaps I didn’t really love him neither. I just kept starin’ out the window as if my mind had already left Lonesome Dove and moved up the trail. Jake sat up again and put his sweaty arms around me. He always said he loved the way I smell in the morning’, so he sniffed my shoulders and my throat. He did it again. I didn’t stop the attentions but I didn’t encourage them neither. I just kept thinkin’ that any other man woulda beat me black and blue after what I did with Gus.

The day before I left town I heard a knock at my door. It was Xavier. He was standin’ on the stairs cryin’ his eyes out. He said, “Is it true, what Jake says? You’re leaving?” I nodded and told him my plans about San Francisco and gettin’ the hell out of Lonesome Dove. He said, “I want to marry you, don’t go Lorie. If you go I don’t want to live. I will burn the place down. It’s a filthy place anyways. I will burn it down tomorrow.” He kept goin’ on and on and he wouldn’t stop even after I told him to. “If Jake kills me I would be better. I can give you everything.” Then he started pullin’ money outa his pocket, and the sight of it made me feel tired. I knew right then and there that no matter what plans I made or how I tried to live, some man would always be lookin’ at me and holdin’ out money.